; he won't sell them; he won't even wear
one of the rings on his finger, or one of the pins at his breast. He
keeps his cabinet on his dressing-room table; and he says, 'I like to
gloat over my jewels, every night, before I go to bed.' Ten thousand
pounds' worth of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and what not--at
the mercy of the first robber who happens to hear of them. Oh, my dear,
he would have no choice, I do assure you, but to use his pistols. We
shouldn't quietly submit to be robbed. Sir Jervis inherits the spirit
of his ancestors. My husband has the temper of a game cock. I myself,
in defense of the property of my employers, am capable of becoming a
perfect fiend. And we none of us understand the use of firearms!"

While she was in full enjoyment of this last aggravation of the horrors
of the prospect, Emily tried another change of position--and, this time,
with success. Greedy admiration suddenly opened Mrs. Rook's little eyes
to their utmost width. "My heart alive, miss, what do I see at your
watch-chain? How they sparkle! Might I ask for a closer view?"

Emily's fingers trembled; but she succeeded in detaching the locket from
the chain. Alban handed it to Mrs. Rook.

She began by admiring the diamonds--with a certain reserve. "Nothing
like so large as Sir Jervis's diamonds; but choice specimens no doubt.
Might I ask what the value--?"

She stopped. The inscription had attracted her notice: she began to read
it aloud: "In loving memory of my father. Died--"

Her face instantly became rigid. The next words were suspended on her
lips.

Alban seized the chance of making her betray herself--under pretense of
helping her. "Perhaps you find the figures not easy to read," he
said. "The date is 'thirtieth September, eighteen hundred and
seventy-seven'--nearly four years since."

Not a word, not a movement, escaped Mrs. Rook. She held the locket
before her as she had held it from the first. Alban looked at Emily.
Her eyes were riveted on the housekeeper: she was barely capable of
preserving the appearance of composure. Seeing the necessity of acting
for her, he at once said the words which she was unable to say for
herself.

"Perhaps, Mrs. Rook, you would like to look at the portrait?" he
suggested. "Shall I open the locket for you?"

Without speaking, without looking up, she handed the locket to Alban.

He opened it, and offered it to her. She neither accepted nor refused
it: her hands remained hangi